


Home for the Holidays

by Fallen_Feather



Category: Original Works
Genre: Bondage kink, F/M, Kinks, Orgasm Delay, Orgasm Denial, Praise Kink, Self-Bondage, biting kink, so many kinks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-14 18:33:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13013703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fallen_Feather/pseuds/Fallen_Feather
Summary: Sam is stuck with her ultra religious family for the holidays with a kinky itch she just can’t scratch.  She’s not the only one with that problem.





	1. A nice trip (with a body like that)

**Author's Note:**

> A work in progress, no fandom, just my kinky characters. So many kinks, I couldn’t even find tags for them all.  
> Tease and denial mutual kink  
> T&D challenges / dares  
> Accidental love interest  
> Possible incest? Technically step cousins, but only for a few recent years?  
> He’s a little bi, but it really doesn’t come up (in this story)  
> Sort of size kink? They both love that she’s so petite and he’s.... not.

Home for the Holidays

     We pulled onto the long driveway of my Aunt Marie and Uncle Henry’s secluded estate in near silence.  My pious parents had finally tired of lecturing me, and I tired of hearing them lecture.  And this was only the _beginning_ of our two week holiday visit.  
     I should have at least _tried_ to fib about a study group or lab group or even a bible study group that would get me back to college a few days early but when it came to my parents I was mostly a crappy liar.  And they insisted on only taking Dad’s car, which left me stuck until they decide to leave.  
     I think they were trying cram a full semester’s worth of missed lectures on the purity of my virginity (which was secretly long gone), the importance of my grades (I had been a 4.5 or higher student since middle school, hence the full ride scholarship to to Indiana state), and oh why, Samantha, couldn’t I have just gone to the same Christian college where they'd met at a purity club mixer and exchanged promise rings?  It was only 40 miles away and meant I could still live at home on the weekends and still student teach Sunday School!  Why wouldn’t I want _that_?

     Well, Mom, Dad... I’m secretly a self bondage slut with an orgasm denial kink and have been since the pastor's son screwed me over the pulpit while insisting I’d go to hell if I came in God’s house. He’d twisted my nipples til I cried (and made me even wetter) and said he’d tell the whole school what a kinky pain slut I was if I dared to come without his permission.   
When I was on the brink of the finish line and about to tumble over (exposure be damned) he pulled out and shoved just the tip of his dick in my ass and came there instead, leaving me an unfulfilled hormonal wreck, then calmly walked me home and delivered me back to you with a friendly innocent smile.  “She said she wasn’t feeling well.”  He’d said.  
You both thanked him for taking such good care of me.

     Oh, the wicked irony.

     I hadn’t had the privacy for a good self-bondage and denial session all semester and had started to feel the effects which was precisely why I'd wanted to drive separately.  My dorm would be practically empty and my roommate was vacationing in Geneva with her own family.  But here I was instead, pulling up to the mansion I’d essentially be grounded to, surrounded by my ultra-religious family with nothing to do but pray (literally) that the visit would be cut short.  
     Several cars already lined the driveway, suggesting we were one of the last to arrive.  
     "Oh! Looks like Evan is back from college, too!"  My mother noted.  I perked up a little at that, since my Aunt’s stepson is easily the most tolerable of all my family, not being especially religious, and is the closest to my age.  Also, _eye candy._  
     Evan was gorgeous, tall and broad-shouldered, sandy-haired with dark hazel eyes that always seemed to be laughing.  He’d been leaning against his old Jeep in the type of skinny jeans that would stop traffic and an old leather bomber jacket tapping away on his cellphone.  He straightened and put on a friendly dimpled smile as we rolled to a stop.  I hadn’t seen him since my graduation party and that was only in passing on his way back from his own second year at college.  He hadn’t changed much.  
     My parents greeted him warmly as I collected my day pack and jacket and slid out of the car.  One glance from him and my knees felt a little weak, because something in his smile _shifted_.  The smile still reached his eyes, but it was a tad darker and a little surprised.  
     I was apparently one of those girls that needed a college experience to truly blossom - my height topped off at 5’1, my long, wavy dark hair glowed a little auburn in the sunlight and I knew my green eyes were smiling back.  Also, despite only having gained five pounds of the dreaded freshman fifteen and having small but perky breasts, I was never turned down for an occasional one-nighter.  Life was good.  
     "Hey stranger," I greeted, aiming for a casual 'nope didn’t notice you still look like sex on a stick' mature college vibe.  
     "Hey yourself, coz.  Looks like college is treating you well."  
     "It is, thanks.  How’s your year going?”  
     "Dull so far, but I think that’ll change soon."  His lip twitched as he turned toward the open trunk and plucked both of the large heavy suitcases out with the ease of someone who worked out often.  Like someone who could hold me down, no problem.  My mouth may have dropped open a little unattractively, but snapped shut when his eyes slid back my way.  
     I slipped past him to grab the box of gifts and shut the trunk as my parents had hurried ahead to greet my aunt and uncle on the porch.  The gift box had slid all the forward and I leaned nearly all the way in to tug it back.  A crunch of gravel and then a muttered " _shit_!" and he landed almost comically, sprawled over my back pinning me by the hips with his face in my hair.  I froze, breath held and eyes wide because I could feel every inch of him shoulder to thigh and he was definitely proportional.  
     Everywhere.  
     In all the best ways.  
     He took a deep slow breath, his nose and lips trailing sideways through my hair until he reached the curve of my ear.  
     "Sorry."  His voice was quiet and husky and went straight through me.  "Tripped."  He uncurled away, but never having dropped the suitcases, he shoved away with a firm slow grinding thrust of his hips against my ass.  
     "S’okay," I choked out when I could breathe again without whimpering.  Or moaning.  "Happens."  
     I lifted the box out and held it close like a shield while I shut the trunk and turned to follow him to the porch, trying not to ogle is ass.  Much.  
     He’d slowed his stride to let me catch up, but I swear I could see his lips curving up from the corner of my eye.  I felt my own subtle 'naw, not a kinky bone in my body' smirk twitch in response.  
     "Won’t happen again," said finally, head turning away as we navigated the walk.  
     I’m either stupid, or brave.  
     "Not while you’re wearing those jeans you won’t.  You’ll traumatize all the little ones.  But if you’ve got something _baggier_..."  
     His head snapped back toward me but I hurried on, biting my inner lip with amusement.  I heard him mutter another curse and when he tripped this time, I felt sure it really was an accident.  Rather than look back, I greeted my aunt and uncle warmly.  This visit might not be the actual hell I’d anticipated.


	2. Exposure

     My aunt Marie married well, the second time around.  Evan’s father Henry was nearly 20 years older than she and stupidly wealthy, but was kind and generous and charitable and nearly all the qualities my parents and extended family commended.  After his first wife passed away, he’d raised Evan to be much the same.  Mostly.  
     Evan was kind, helping cousin Corine and I pre-make dessert in the kitchen, dutifully stirring puddings and slicing fruit where needed.  Every time she ducked her head into the fridge or pantry for some ingredient or another he would find a reason to slowly lick the pudding spoons or tease a slice of berry into his mouth with both tongue and teeth, watching me watch him as he did it.  
     He was charitable in offering me a spoonful of pudding when I didn’t respond to his antics.  Corine, flustered by the time crunch, had rushed down to the basement fridge for an ice cream cake.  I ignored the spoon he held out playfully like a dare and, grasping his wrist, with only the tip of my tongue I swiped up the tiny bit on the underside of his thumb and watched his pupils blow wide.  
     "Pretty tasty," I commented as casually as I could.

     The rest of the evening he was generous with covert smoldering looks, not a laughing glance in sight.  I wondered if I’d maybe taken it a bit too far.  I was bunking with my fourteen year old cousins Corine and Alexa, who giggle-texted for a solid hour after the lights went out.  
     Another hour after the house had fallen silent, I snuck back down to the kitchen to hunt down the chamomile tea I knew was in the pantry.  
     Knowing he had his own mini-apartment over the garage, I was surprised to see him at the smallest kitchen table, laptop open with a half-empty bottle of beer.  He only glanced up briefly and blinked slowly before returning to his... whatever.  
     I stuck a mug full of water in the microwave and nabbed the tea off a shelf.  Evan was watching me again with a thoughtful frown.  His gaze shifted back to the computer, then me.  
     I was tired, and for tonight, tired of this game.  "What?" I asked, ripping the tea packet open.  
     He cocked his head a little and slid his bottle my way in invitation.  "Beer?"  
     I snorted.  "Definitely not."  
     "Why not?  Surely you’re not _that_ innocent?"  
     I rolled my eyes, watching the timer on the microwave count down.  "Whatever gave you that idea?  No, I just won’t be indulging with my parents any closer than fifty miles or so. I’m not sure if you’ve ever been treated to one of their purity of body, mind and soul lectures, but I can tell you, it’s a thing of awe and terror and generally best avoided."  I kept my voice down, though I knew every room had sound dampening walls.  Receiving a lecture on my disapproval of their lectures wasn’t my idea of fun.  
     "Purity of mind, body and soul?"  He scoffed with a lazy smile.  "They really have no idea, do they?"  
     I shot a questioning eyebrow up at him as the microwave hit zero with trio of beeps and lifted the steaming mug down.  
       "They don’t know the kinds of bookmarks and links you keep hidden on your laptop."  
     The mug dropped that last inch to the counter with a heavy clatter, splashing near-scalding water over my wrist.  I didn’t feel it, just trying to stay upright when all the blood drained out of my face.  I gripped the counter hard, teeth clenching with either fury or kill-me-now embarrassment.  
     "Please tell me that you’re not _that_ kind of an asshole," I ground out.  Fury first then.  
     "Only in the pursuit of one-upping you," He said calmly.   _Just_ calm.   _Not_ guilty.  I gripped the counter tighter, let it anchor me so I didn’t do something stupid like _actually_ try ripping his balls off. Or worse, burst into tears.  
       I could hear him moving up behind me, no idea when he’d even stood up.  
     "I had to know," another step closer, "because I can feel you _across a fucking room_ ," another step, "like I could feel you _across the driveway._ "  And then he was pressing me against the counter, one solid, long line of heat, grinding himself, rock hard, into the small of my back and his mouth lowered toward my cheek, lips brushing the tiny hairs at the back of my ear as he spoke.  
     "So I was only a _little_ surprised to find you visit the same sites I do," he whispered with a gentle rock of hips.  "Even favorited a few of my favorite videos."  Another rock of hips, fingertips sliding under my baggy sleep shirt and around my waist, barely felt until a single fingertip touched down above my bellybutton and I gasped, silent.  
     "I wonder if I keep looking," that fingertip dragged down, dipped into my navel (which seems to have some bizarre connection straight to my loins) "if I won't find the same fiction sites," that ticklish finger dipped in, then out, then in "the same stories I’ve read, maybe you even favorited a few I’ve written?"  
     His fingernail scraped through the sensitive folds in my navel and my knees buckled, leaving me propped up only by the weight of his body still pinning mine. I choked down the whine clawing it’s way up my throat, my lips swollen with how hard I’d bitten them to keep quiet.  
     "Put." He scraped that nail a little harder and my eyes slammed shut.  
   "Your hands." His other hand skimmed up my side, feathered over that delicate spot between my breasts.  
     “Up." The hand that wasn’t somehow fucking me deep with only my bellybutton (fucking hell, how is he _doing_ that?) was suddenly wrapped wide and strong but loose around the front of my throat.  
     “On the cupboard,” he growled into my ear.  
     I didn’t even hesitate.  
     But even with my arms stretched all the way up, I had to stand on my toes to reach, which just lined up the crack of my ass with his dick even better and now he could thrust harder, shove a knee between between my thighs so even my toes left the floor, my hips bruisingly tight against the marble counter, and even with both both sets of clothes between us I’d never felt so deliciously exposed and vulnerable and somehow _safe_.  
     He thrust harder still, the hand around my throat tightening and loosening in time with his finger dragging almost (perfectly) painfully into my navel, his hips grinding steadily while that scorching breath in my ear sped up almost in tune with mine.  
     My muscles bunched tighter as this impossible climax closed in and the hand around my throat squeezed harder, just once, and I gasped. Then those same fingers, just the first three, hot and wide, were sliding salty and huge over my tongue, deep enough for reflex to kick in.  I sucked down, hard, and his final thrust matched it, stilled, his cock twitching against my ass, unashamedly coming in his pants which somehow set _me_ off, my panties going from damp to soaked as I trembled with the smallest, most perfect micro-orgasm that ever existed.  But it was enough, somehow, that all my muscles loosened with a sigh.  
     "Think you can sleep now?" He whispered, rubbing my own spit gently down my chin to my throat and into the neckline of my T-shirt.  
     I let my head flop weakly back onto his chest as he lowered my toes to the floor.  
     "Yeah." I was still 99% horny, but the loose, liquid kind of horny I liked the best, even with my slick-drenched panties. I must have wriggled uncomfortably (and how was he _not_?) but I felt his gratified smirk where his lips were still teasing my ear.  
    "Two choices. Take them off, right here, right now... or sleep with them on. I like the idea of you wet all night because of me."  
      _Decisions, decisions._  
     I blushed deeply in the dark and dropped my baggy sweatpants, still pressed to his chest and wriggled out of my purple undies, then used my toes and calves to work my sweats back up, then picked my undies up with my toes too, palming them to shove in my pocket.  I didn’t fight very hard when they disappeared into his pocket instead.   
     From the floor above us, one of the babies made a plaintive mewling noise that broke whatever post-coital spell we were dazing in, still pressed back to front.  I started to step away and he yanked my arm, spinning me around in some crazy ballroom dancing style move that ended with us pressed front to front, my face tilted up.      In the dim light he grinned at my surprise and I was halfway grinning back before his lips were on mine and how had we not even kissed yet? ....and maybe we could keep going? He was the rare kind of kisser that could easily get me halfway to the finish line with just his mouth on mine. _Damn_ , he was just full of surprises. But I was surprising myself too tonight, so maybe we were even.  
     "Take your laptop, go sleep, have wicked dreams." He murmured, nudging me away. "I’ll clean up the tea."  
     Ah.  
     The _laptop_.  
     I scowled a little. "It was still a dick move.”  
     His eyes may have been laughing again. Too dark to tell.  
     "If there had been anything on there other than what I _did_ find, you’d never have known I peeked.  I’m only _somewhat_ of a dick. But if the road to hell is paved with good intentions, maybe the road to heaven is paved with naughty ones?"  
     Just hearing him say the word _naughty_ gave me shivers and I turned away to hide my smile, gathering up my computer.  
     "Maybe," I conceded quietly on the way out the door.  
     I slept better that night than I had in months.

 


	3. Let the Games Begin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This could get them in sooooo much trouble. Oh well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Personally, I lasted all of five weeks in college — all future mistakes will be due to my uneducated ignorance. :P

   It seemed I was right about Evan working out every day; he was out jogging in the frigid air the next morning when I came down for breakfast. I was kind of grateful since I honestly had no clue how to act around him in the full light of day.  
   Breakfast was a quieter affair than dinner with most the little ones blinking half-asleep at Saturday morning cartoons. I let everyone’s conversations wash over me while I waited for the coffee jolt to kick in.  
   I was halfway to my lips with a second dose when I noticed movement just over my parent’s shoulders, outside the breakfast room window. Evan was peeking around the the side of the house nearest to the garage, looking freshly showered and far too awake for this time of morning. As soon as our eyes met he grinned slow... and _evil_.  
   From the pocket of his cargo pants he pulled out a slip of purple-colored fabric one slow inch at a time, both mocking and teasing. I tried to swallow my nerves and hoped no one noticed my half-panicked expression while I hid it behind my coffee mug and sent a tiny prayer skyward.  
   With a wicked smile he brought them to his face, his eyes fluttering briefly as he inhaled deep. I was holding my breath to lessen the likelihood I’d make some sort of embarrassing noise and my eyes flew wide when he very deliberately tucked the undies down the front of his pants with a look of wicked satisfaction and vanished back around the corner.  
   Two minutes later he was settling into the chair next to mine, murmuring greetings all around. To me he smiled.  
   "Morning. Is there any juice left? Might be just what I need to perk up.”  
   Well played, Evan. But this game I knew I’d win. Or, I _would_ if my parents weren’t right across the table. I slid the orange juice his way.  
   "Fresh squeezed," my aunt Hellen said helpfully.  
   I hid my tiny smile in coffee.  
   "I thought the electric juicer broke."  
   "That’s why we keep the old juicer around," aunt Marie said placidly. "More work, but..."  
   “We all pitched in," uncle Henry finished, smiling at his wife.  
   “Fresh juice from the whole family!” I added brightly, just to watch Evan struggle not to react.  
   Only years of practice with my parents at being properly respectful at mealtime kept me from snickering like a middle-schooler. Our buffet of food was lined up on the sideboard and I stood to fetch myself a plate. Evan followed.  
   My eyes scanned over the selections of pancakes, waffles, fruit balls, hard-boiled and fried eggs, small slabs of sticky honeyed ham, thick bacon, sausages, buns and sticky rolls and let out an amused huff.  
   "Too easy," I declared quietly. He must have agreed because he let out his own amused huff as we filled our plates.  
   He raised an eyebrow as I mostly passed up the meats in favor of fruit balls and a gooey cinnamon roll with just one sausage.  
   "That enough meat for you? Some say it’s healthier to load up on protein early in the day." He blinked innocently at me.  
   "Enough to whet my appetite for later, maybe." I could feel a faint blush on my cheeks. "All things in moderation. Neither gluttony or greed is my favorite sin," I breathed out.  
   The last of the adults joined the table with a noisy rush and he leaned in, reaching for the syrup just past me.  
   "I’m a fan of all seven, myself," he replied quietly. I shivered and turned away.

    As the day grew warmer and the children restless, family activities moved outdoors to play sets and snowball fights and hiking around the pond behind the house until five of the nine youngest children and two of the adults were ready for naps.  
I was somewhat waylaid, seeing a flash of familiar purple on the furthest edge of the garage away from the house. Evan was obviously up to something. So far, his _somethings_ were highly entertaining. The garage door was left ajar, but Evan had vanished. He’d left a note, and two little triangles of burlap.  
    **Dare #1: wear these to dinner.  
**     **or  
   Dare #2: wear these to bed.**  
   Easy choice.  
   But... Hmmm. Well, he _started_ the one upping, didn’t he?  
   It didn’t take long to find the rest of the burlap with the gardening supplies, just under the table, with a pair of old sheers.  
   I flipped over the note.  
    **Dare # 1: wear this for a stroll around the pond before dinner (followed directly with dinner)  
**     **or  
   Dare # 2: wear this, lying on your belly, reading something fun for one hour before going directly to sleep. :)**

   I snapped a picture of the new scrap I cut, right there where he’d left mine, texted it to him, and went back inside to catch up with Alexa and Corine - and waited.  
   Dinner came and went and while neither of us looked especially squirmy, privately heated and humored looks were exchanged. I suppose we’d see who was better off in the morning.

   By morning, we both looked strung out and fidgety and a little wild-eyed. At the buffet getting food, I side-eyed him, and him me.  
   “Tie?” I asked genially.  
   “Would mean another round, I think,” he said, while squishing a roll in his hand a bit. I swallowed, then piled sausages onto my plate. Then I added syrup. His eyes looked a little wide, and I returned to my seat, smiling.  
   My mother was frowning at me a little, but not upset. Evan took a free spot at the end of the table, keeping his eyes deliberately on his food.  
   “Are you alright Samantha? You look exhausted.” I smiled a bit at Mom.  
   “I am, a little. Trouble sleeping, I suppose.”  
   She sighed, looking weirdly put out, like _my_ insomnia was _her_ issue to deal with. “Well, maybe try to stay away from your computer just before bed. Maybe doing something soothing just before sleep would help.”  
   My peripheral vision is excellent, which is how I knew Evan was close to chewing through his own lip to keep a straight face. I nodded.  
   “I’ll try that,” I promised, then sucked all the syrup from a sausage before I popped it in my mouth.  
   “Evan, hon. You don’t look any better.” Aunt Marie was frowning at him.  
   “Oh.” He seemed startled to hear his name. “Um, I was up late on my computer too. Checking my email.”  
   “Perhaps you should do the same, less electronics before bed. Maybe you both can find something to do together, a nice easy game?”  
   Evan choked on his sip of coffee.  
   I smiled at Evan, then at my aunt. “Perhaps we will.”

   He texted me a picture of his Jeep’s back tire an hour later. Another note, this time with both a web address and numbers in a row, 1-13. I hiked around the pond and just out of sight from the house and pulled the address up on my phone. It was a list of edging games. I snorted, considering. This could get us in soooo much trouble. I texted him #7 back anyway.  
   I did mine in the shower that afternoon, the only privacy I’d get that day, having rolled a pair of online dice. Before I stepped in, I texted him 5-3. I’d edge myself 5 times, 3 minutes a piece, a full minute of rest between. Dried and redressed, I shakily rejoined the family by the fireplace to heat my hair into drying faster. Evan spotted me from across the room when I entered and stilled, his eyes a little wide before excusing himself and vanishing. (My uncle asked if I was feeling well just before dinner - I was apparently looking a little flushed).  
   Just before bed I got a text back. 2-4. I wondered how long he could keep these games up before his body stopped giving him a choice.  Still, I fell asleep wondering what he looked like on edge number two.

   The next morning after breakfast, most the kids bundled up for another round of mini-snowman building while I closeted myself away in Henry’s study, gorgeously decorated with dark woods and supple leather. With both a pool table and its own fireplace, it looked like a scene straight from 17th century.  
   "I’d wondered where you’d disappeared to," Evan said, sneaking up behind me as I lounged on the sofa. My laptop was opened beside me, but I was strangely caught up studying the painting over the hearth.  
   "I will never understand the fascination of dogs playing poker," I said plainly. "But this painting is like a car wreck involving clowns; no matter how hard I try, I can’t look away."  
   It was the most tasteful version of the picture I’d ever seen, like someone was truly trying to counter the ridiculousness with true talent. The lines were soft and real; the leather of its high-backed, winged chairs looked truly touchable.  
   "It’s a testosterone thing."  
   I blinked over my shoulder at him as he began setting pool balls onto the table.  
   "As is that game," I remarked honestly. What was the male fascination of hitting sporty balls with sporty sticks? “An entire game centered around getting it in the hole." I saw the quick flash of teeth as he turned to pick a cue stick.  
   "No matter how you boil it down, what drives us is fairly basic animal instinct," he agreed. "Do you play?" He asked placidly as he expertly chalked up the cue, his eyes intent on mine.  
   "It’s been a while, honestly. I’ve been busy working hard to get the most 'actual' education out of my college education."  
   He looked a little surprised as he lined up his shot. Trying not to watch his large hand nearly engulf the cue ball, I turned back to my computer, scrolling down the page.  
   "At least half the college experience has absolutely nothing to do with books, you know." At a fast crack and I heard at least five balls tumble into pockets. I nodded, a shoulder shrugging.  
   "I’m double-majoring; next year I’ll slow down a little, but I’m getting most my basics done this year. It doesn’t leave me much time for extracurriculars."  
   "That can’t be very good for your mental health," he murmured. “Everyone needs down time.”  
   I nodded but didn’t reply. A few shots later and he broke the silence first.  
   "So... what is the internet teaching you today?" I heard the teasing challenge, but my mother interrupted, striding in and frowning at my computer with a huff and pinched expression.  
   " _Really_?" She demanded, quietly. "Just two short weeks with the family and you shut yourself away for... what is _that_?" She asked in shock. I frowned back at the screen and sighed. You’d think she’d never seen a man in the nude before. Since I existed, I know she had.  
   "It’s the school site for my figure drawing course, Mom. Nothing explicit, all in decent taste, like a museum. I was seeing if they’d listed the new book yet." Evan had discretely vanished, leaving the door mostly closed for our privacy. Like a coward, I wished he’d stayed to distract her so I might have made a run for it before her lecture could build up steam. "But I found a private spot away from the potential curious eyes of the younger ones, just in case."  
   Her eyes still glared disapproval at the screen, then swiveled to me.  
   "If it’s something too indecent for children, you shouldn’t be viewing it in a house full of them. You’re hardly old enough to be viewing it yourself. This is not the kind of education for any decent young lady to be pursuing, and you know it. Why you insist on disappointing your father and I..." As usual, it devolved from there, me hardly getting a word in edgewise and her rehashing the same exhausting tirade I’d been falling victim to since I’d excepted the scholarship. I stopped replying after the first five minutes and mostly stopped listening after ten until—  
   "Why we let you indulge such a selfish hobby, I’ll regret—"  
   " _No_ ," I cut her off, soft and harsh. I’d had enough. "I’ve done nearly everything you’ve asked, without argument, _all my life_ , but my future is _mine_ to decide. _Selfish_ is trying to keep me cloistered at home, only ever bringing me out so you can show me off like a perfectly groomed show dog instead of having even a _fraction_ of pride in my accomplishments—"  
   The slap was unexpected and shocked me silent. She hadn’t done that since I’d first had a period in middle school and mouthed off in a hormonal childish tirade. This time she looked shocked and uncertain herself, stepping back an inch.  
   I stood slowly, trembling with both nerves and rage.  
   " _Yale_."  
   She frowned and prepared to speak.  
   " _UCLA_.” I cut her off again. “Columbia. WashU St. Louis. Chicago School of the Arts. San Diego. Bard. Stanford. Glasgow School of Art." Now she looked confused. _Good_.  
   "Those are just _some_ of the _other_ schools that offered me a full scholarship, mom. Glasgow even offered me a student grant for living expenses overseas and wouldn’t have cost you or dad a _dime_." Now her eyes were a little wide, definitely confused and a little shocked.  
   "But I’m _here_. Only a half-days drive from home, for _you_." I turned to pick up my laptop, suddenly exhausted, though I stood straight as I looked her in the eye. "If you ever hit me again, that will be the last time you'll see me for a long, _long_ time."  
   She didn’t move as I swept past her and out of the room, but I heard her faint " _Samantha, wait_ ," as I was suddenly guided deeper down the hallway and through an odd skinny stairwell I’d never seen before. A door that resembled the hallway wall swung closed behind us in silence and I stumbled upward at Evan’s light shove.  
   The stairway emptied out onto the small connecting porch attached to the garage apartment Evan had claimed for privacy. It was warm and oddly spartan inside with a kitchenette and full bathroom. And had its own pool table. I looked back toward the main house.  
   "You have a hidden staircase? I’ve always wanted one of those." My cheek was warming up as my color returned, but didn’t really hurt. The cool damp cloth he pressed against it did, a little, and I winced. I’d only ever seen his eyes laughing or lusting before now. He wasn’t any less gorgeous when serious and a little pissed off.  
   "That happen often?" His voice was steel and gravel. Maybe more than a _little_ pissed.  
   "Eavesdropper," I complained. When he only stared back patiently, I answered simply. "No," dabbing at my cheek. "Unless you mean the lecture. Then, yes."  
   I brushed past him and unabashedly snooped around, seeing a smidge of personality in the nooks and crannies, from a heavy leather trunk that looked centuries old at the foot of his bed to a petrified wood cutting board and dark heavy wood flooring that should have made the rooms look smaller but didn’t. A well-worn drafting table was half hidden behind a curtain near the full windows where it likely got great light year round.  
   He tugged my laptop away and set it on the slab of stone that served as his coffee table, and then tugged me down to the squashy sofa next to him. It was odd to feel so comfortable with someone I hadn’t known half my life or longer, odder still to sit in comfortable silence with them, just listening to each other breathe. That was the last thought I had before I slept.

   When I woke, Evan was back on my laptop again and I was (embarrassingly) drooling a little on his shoulder. He was kind enough not to mention it, so I didn’t either, only readjusted my head to squint at the screen.  
   "How do you keep unlocking it?" I had to know. Not a single soul had my master password. The secondary password only worked for the family-safe guest account without a single kinky-bookmarked browser to be found.  
   “I guessed it,” he claimed, straight-faced.  
   “Liar.” No one would guess ‘T13m3up*t13m3d0wn’. Not even a fellow kinkster.  
   He answered, scrolling down a media page of... _wow_. My artwork. All on one page, somehow. “I’m majoring in architecture, minoring in computer sciences.” He clicked on an image and I bit my lip nervously. Not many people had ever seen my portfolio. According to the web address, the college itself saved it on my private student account.  
   "You hacked my school?" I asked, surprised.  
   "Hacked your password, too." He grinned, still tapping through my works, stopping on the one I hadn’t looked at since I’d sent it out for admissions. He was as quiet as I, paying homage to the charcoaled sketch.  
   It was the peaceful view of the same wooded graveyard that held both his mother and my baby brother. Davey had stepped out into traffic when he was three and I was nine. The mighty oaks littered throughout the cemetery were massive and lovely, linking together fifty feet up like an umbrella, sheltering the graves below.  
   Evan leaned into me a little and clicked back out, and I stifled a smile at the next image he chose. Evan side-eyed me curiously. "A church pulpit?"  
   I snickered. Yup, _that_ pulpit.  
   "I thought you were somehow a little less religious than..." He was frowning, a little perplexed at me now and I was giggling a little uncontrollably. Since it felt so naturally right, (we’d enjoyed private, semi-public kinky games and had fully clothed not-sex, after all) I told him the story of my naughty loss of virginity, cracking up entirely at his wide eyes that were caught between amused and utterly scandalized.  
   I finished up with my shaky walk home and both my parents praising him for his considerate escort.  
   " _Holllllly shiiiiit,_ " he choked out, shaking his head.  
   "Holy, not so much,” I breathed out, calming my giggles. "He _was_ a shit though."  
   Evan was still shaking his head, bemused, when my cell buzzed in my pocket. Logically, I knew my mother _could_ text, but this was the first time she had in years.  
    **We’re all going to the village for the bonfire lighting. Are you feeling well enough to join us?**  
   “Did the poles reverse while I was napping? A little apocalypse action, maybe?" I asked. Evan leaned his head in to read the text. "She doesn’t ask,” I explain, “she _demands_." I frowned, considering. "Maybe she’s possessed."  
   Evan huffed a laugh. "Or maybe it’s an olive branch,” he offered. I knew it was.  
   “Can I use your restroom?"  
   My reflection looked a little drowsy, but otherwise composed. I heaved in a fortifying breath. 'Tis the season to forgive, as much as I could. Peace on Earth, goodwill towards mom.  
   From just outside the door, Evan offered up "You don’t need to go. We could both stay here and watch the Charlie Brown Christmas special.” I quirked a smile and opened the door.  
   "Maybe next time, but thanks. I don’t hide, not when I can help it. I’m tougher than that, at least" And I was. He smiled back a little.  
   "Damn right you are."


	4. Moments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her family is wonderful.  
> Her family is also weird.

   The bonfire was beautiful, easily worth the awkward moment when Mom pulled me aside to apologize, though a little ineptly. I didn’t say I forgave her, not sure that I did, but hugged her tight anyway. She's the only mom I’ve got, even if she doesn’t know me very well.  
   The small village of Nellman, Indiana was truly that, a village, with only 500 people or so living in the village proper. Everyone knew everyone else, with the exception of visiting families. This time of year everything twinkled brightly or shone softly, like a Norman Rockwell painting come to life, complete with horse-drawn carriage (or sleigh) rides for the children.  
   Free hot chocolate and hot cider made the rounds and dozens of smaller pit fires lit the streets for marshmallow s’mores. There were even carolers. I ran out of space on my phone, taking so many pictures and my fingers itched for my pastels or my paint brushes.  
   Every shop window along the main street twinkled with decorations and last minute gifts. When the snow began drifting down on the noses of delighted children, it was officially the perfect night.  
   Half the town ended up at the church for an evening prayer, too many to fit inside. I’d had plenty of practice ignoring certain aspects of the church since I’d lost my virginity, but Evan spotted the pulpit now sitting on the church porch. He eyed it, then me, fighting a grin. I eyed it, then him, and waggled my eyebrows suggestively.  
   He snorted once, drawing odd looks, then faked a coughing fit and disappeared from sight until he could control himself.  The reverend was giving me a mild look. I smiled innocently back.  
   The evening ended with a candle lighting and a peaceful prayer for the world at large and we were all half-asleep by the time we returned home.  
   When I woke early the next morning, a mini-usb was resting on my pillow in front of my nose. I dressed quickly and snuck away with my computer to let my cousins sleep. The house was silent, bar the steady thrum of the fireplace fan. I burrowed under a blanket in the sitting room and plugged in the usb.  
   Pictures, some of me, mostly of the family from the night before, but some of the village, the fires, shop windows. Every photo was amazing and caught the light just right. If this was my only Christmas gift, I’d be content with it.  
   That it seemed to be a ‘just because’ gift was a little worrying. Were we getting too serious? Could it even _be_ serious? A quick fling with a cousin-by-marriage could be brushed aside as holiday hormones. But...  
    _Well_.  
   I could feel _him_ from across a room too, like my senses were fine-tuned to him on a molecular level. The only surprise was that it _didn’t_ feel surprising. I downloaded the images and set them to rotate as wallpaper. The last picture was odd though- a picture of a web address.  
   I typed it in, my eyebrows rising when the site pinged up.  
   As was my arousal when I skimmed it over.  
   I backtracked and deleted the photo, emptied the computer’s trash (just in case), and skimmed over the site a little more, shutting the browser instantly when I heard a door open upstairs, then dashed to the kitchen to helpfully start some coffee.  
   But my imagination was still glued to that site.  
   Even in a mansion this size, hot water will eventually run out and so we had a strict shower schedule. With my mind on that ( _holy hot fuck_ ) website for the first half of the day, when my shower time came up I took it as cold as I could stand. The impulse to relieve the itch was nearly overwhelming. Much tougher to think sexy thoughts when you’re literally shivering.  
Evan’s eyes were fucking _twinkling_ with mirth at my slightly blue-tinged lips when I got out.  
   I retaliated by helping him set the table for dinner, stretching (innocently) up into the cupboard to get another two glasses, my shirt riding up just high enough to flash a bit of my silky red thong. I wasn’t watching, focused on not dropping the cups, but it sounded like he may have choked.  
   On air.

   Just a little.

   The next morning, Christmas Eve, a little something had fallen from my bra as I picked it up to shimmy into. A note with a perplexing mix of numbers and symbols.  I dressed quickly while I frowned at it.  A riddle... or a code?  
   I pulled out my phone, fiddled with the keypad, then my texting keyboard, and mentally matched it up.  
**Come snowmobiling with me**  
**Check boots**  
   My boots?  
   They were threaded carefully in with the laces and easily overlooked, to most. The first I recognized because I owned a set.  Tiny threaded nooses, nipple pinchers, that could be worn hidden under a well-padded bra.  In the other boot was a matching string with tiny clip on one end and a delicate little clit pincher on the other.

While _snowmobiling_. It would be a _fantastic_ torment, especially with an engine throttling away between my thighs.

   I don’t think Evan was much better off than I was by the time the ride was over, his pupils wide and breathing heavy. But then again, wrapped around him from behind my hands hadn’t been idle. Every time he hit a (definitely deliberate) bump, I’d squeeze and scratch out my frustrations over his denims.  
   We _both_ took cold showers after and secretly grinned at each other’s blue-tinged lips. (I’d found a bit of alone time to read one of his stories through. He was just as interested in teasing and denying me as I was, and denying himself, too). One of us was bound to break soon.

   That evening we reserved for family gifts, since Santa wouldn’t arrive til all the candy-hyper kids went to sleep. My parents gifts to me were a (somewhat expected) loaded credit card for school expenses and new clothes and a completely _unexpected_ new set of the slightly pricey pastels I favored. I hugged my mom for a long time, wordless.  
   It made me all the happier to give them my gift. The simple church they’d been married in was small and plain, save for the amazing stained glass work in the windows. That may have been where I fell in love with the play of sunlight through glass and the colorful effect it had on everything in that path of light. I thought I’d done it justice, picking a gentle scene of Jesus surrounded by passive creatures and smiling families, old and young.  
   There were surprised exclamations from all around the room, but my dad’s eyes teared up a little when he kissed my forehead. I’d seen both he and Mom gazing at that window with soft smiles when we’d visited there. It’s easily the most lifelike thing I’d ever painted and the only one not in my portfolio.  
   Over the last few days I’d done fun sketches with the younger kids holding hand-made holiday cards that Corine and Alexa had helped them make (It finally explained the glitter glue in everyone’s hair) while in ridiculous poses. The kids delivered the cards and sketches both, except for the babies.  
   We’d stuck one to Tyler’s diaper with a bow where his butt stuck straight up in his sleep. Baby Leah was trying to grab hers out of the bow clipped to her hair, failing but finding it hilarious.  
   I’d done a hasty sketch for Evan of the snowmobile. He thanked me with a smile, eyes twinkling. (He’d find the other sketch under his pillow of my thonged ass with a sparkly bow near the top split). I only wish I could watch him open it.  
   We all went to bed happy, but I almost burst out laughing (only _just_ managing to choke it down) when Mom tugged me close for another hug and made me promise _not_ to use the pastels to draw naked men. The _front_ of naked men. I solemnly promised while she blushed and vanished into her room.  
   Evan was grinning like a lunatic at the other end of the dim hallway. I backed toward my shared bedroom, my own laughing eyes on his, even as he unbuttoned his jeans. (I slowed my steps). And unzipped. (I _swayed_ back toward the door) And he faded back into the shadows with his thumbs in the waistband of his boxer-briefs, tugging down an inch. (I tripped over the edge of the carpet runner). But I fell asleep smiling.

   For the sake of the kids, we all got up extra early to make the first service at church, so we wouldn’t have to tear them away from their toys later. Evan was apparently not a _very_ early morning person and was still blinking around dazedly until I kindly shoved a to-go cup of coffee in his hand when we all got to the cars. I took his grunt as ‘thanks’.  
   At the church, he deliberately sat one row back and directly behind me, probably so I couldn’t waggle my eyebrows at him again.  
   Smart man.

   We were back at the mansion and knee deep in wrapping paper a mere hour and a half later. Breakfast was made quickly and devoured more quickly, a fresh powder of snow promising the best sledding conditions.  
   I only went out to snap more pictures with my phone, as the last sledding I’d done on that hill had fractured my wrist. Evan had dared me onto a sled back then and felt guilty enough to accompany us to the E.R. and entertain me with mildly dirty limericks when my parents weren’t listening until the doctor got back with my X-rays. He started college the year after and I hadn’t seen as much of him since.  
   When he tried to dare me onto a sled again now, I reminded him (quietly) that it would take more than dirty limericks for me to forgive him this time. Oddly, he blushed a little with an abashed smile until I took a picture of him just that way. He looked adorable.  
   He retaliated with a half-slushy snowball that leaked painfully cold down the back of my neck. Alexa (bless her) avenged me. Henry avenged Evan. Both Corine and Aunt Hellen avenged Alexa.  And that’s how the cold war began.  
   Everyone, adults and kids alike took naps after a hearty beef stew lunch. Evan, Alexa, Corine and I all crashed on the sofa like a pile of sleepy puppies watching a Charlie Brown Christmas. Several people had excellent blackmail material on their phones by the time we woke.  
   Ah well. At least we wouldn’t have to guess what next years gifts would be.

   Two days later, (and two more sneaky edging challenges later), my school’s websites finally updated their course requirement list. _Crap_. Two books had been posted that I’d need to buy new. A quick call to the school store was bad news all around. They sold their last copies of the first book an hour before, having only gotten 10 instead of the 100 they’d ordered. They would arrive two days into the term and the professor had been notified. Not a big deal.  
   The second book the clerk couldn’t find listed _at all_ , until I talked him through the site so he could see it for himself. The college store didn’t carry it, which shouldn’t be possible. According to the store manager, the administration building was still closed for the holidays, barring actual emergencies. I’d have to wait, though I was oddly, so far, the _only_ student to call looking for this book. Was I certain I needed it for the course? I’m pretty sure the first clerk I talked to should’ve been the one managing the store, though I didn’t tell the manager that.  
   Three frustrating, headache-inducing hours later I finally wrangled up the professors email address, though since he was transferring in from New York, didn’t yet have an Indiana State email.  
   He was, however, prompt in replying.  
   To, essentially, call me an idiot.  
   No one _else_ was having this problem, so clearly the problem lay with _me_. If I wasn’t bright enough to figure it out on my own, maybe I should drop the course and save us both the headache of me being in his class.  
    _Asshole_.  
   Ah, I see I can purchase it on Amazon for twice the price where he’ll get all the extra royalties, since he _literally_ wrote the book.  
   Colossal. _Dick_.  
   I’m sure the administration would inform him how very unethical this was (and likely against his contract)... as soon as they opened the day before classes resumed. _Fuck_. I called the bookstore back and was thirty seconds into explaining when my phone died. Actually, it sparked, then died, reeking of burning plastic and smoking a little until I tossed it into the bathroom sink with a whine and watched the water drown out the smoke, just trying not to cry.  
   Corine had seen the smoke and leaned against me in commiseration as my beloved phone blub-blub-sizzled it’s last. Alexa came next, (really, who knows the loss of a cellphone more-so than teenage girls?) and asked, honestly, if I’d like a funeral service for it. I loved my cousins.  
   Word travels fast, when everyone _else_ still has the ability to text and an hour later all 19 of us gathered ‘round the small shipping box laden with bubble wrap and a handsome white silk hankie Henry donated to the cause to pay our last respects. Ladies and gentlemen, my family.  
   Oddly, it was my dad who began, though he looked a little uncertain at how serious he was supposed to be. A glance at my miserable face and he decided on solemn.  
   "We’re gathered here on this sad day to grieve the loss of..." he faltered.  
   "Beautiful Sparkly Phone." Six year old Amelia finished, from my side where she’d wrapped arms around my waist, looking sad on my behalf. I gave her a squeeze.  
   “She was a lovely phone," Aunt Marie continued, "always respectfully silent at mealtimes."  
   Damn my own peripheral vision, even my dad was biting his cheek to keep from smiling. He wasn’t alone.  
   "Equally respectful during prayer," my mother added from behind me, fighting a grin I could _hear_ , but not _see_.  
   "She did have a lovely singing voice," Henry added with a fond smile. (He’d once admired my ringtone.)  
   "She played some great music," added young Chase, my techno-beat buddy. He was grinning at his shoes, trying hard to be serious. By now even my lips were twitching up through the pain.  
   “She took great pictures,” Evan admitted.  
   "She was tough, though,” said Alexa with admiration, (she was on her third phone just _this year_ ), “and went down swinging—“  
   “Singeing,” Corine cut in, wincing. “But she fought to the last.”  
   After a moment of silence an arm and a phone glided past me to settle beside the box. One slow digital beep at a time, came the respectful tune of Taps. I started snickering, emotionally exhausted and hilariously amused.  
   The dam broke.  
   I was in tears laughing, as were most everyone else. The funniest funeral ever. And to think, I might have missed all this by staying at college. I was so glad I came.  
   Evan gave my shoulder a publicly respectable cousinly squeeze once we all calmed a bit and the youngest kids hurried off to play before anyone remembered it was nap time. "Could the SIM card or memory be salvaged?”  
   I shook my head with a wince. “Mostly melted, both.”  
   He’d finagled my account info off my laptop (had he no limits?) but printed out the warranty information and a shipping label to send it back. When the box was wrapped, taped and labeled, he nudged my arm.  
   “C’mon. Let’s go get you a burner phone.  We’ll drop this at the post office on the way.”  
   I nodded, thanked everyone for their sympathy, grabbed my day pack, and we were off.


	5. Motel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, this was meant to be a story of just kink-filled holiday fun. Then feelings happened. Whatever — here, have some badly written angst, or skip ahead for super-fun smut. :D

   Evan’s Jeep was old, and therefor loud. But he caressed the steering wheel absently with the side of his right thumb, a habit that comes only from long practice. I was betting he’d owned this Jeep since before he could legally drive it. It was interesting to see him comfortable in his own space— the kind that molded around him and not the other way around. Radio presets, tags on his keys, a gum wrapper that looked old enough to be original to the Jeep. Little pieces of Evan I was surprised to find that I wanted to learn.  
   “What was the first building you wanted to design?” I asked. He thought about it, shrugged a little ruefully.  
   “A dungeon,” he admitted with a smile.  
   I chuckled, but his look was distant on the road. “What kind of dungeon?” I wheedled. “Medieval? Tales from the crypt?” I waited. “Or... just the kinky kind? (Whips and chains and the bride’s bouquet, woo!)” I’d visit, if he did.  
   “A haunted dungeon.” He shrugged, looking shy. “And the whole haunted house that went with it.” I perked, at that. Halloween was my favorite holiday.  
   “And what would it have been like?”  
   His eyebrow popped up a little, gauging my interest. And then he told me, with the kind of detail I could visualize, his face open and more relaxed than it had been back at the estate. A true fan of Halloween, like me. Though, I doubted he’d spent his first Halloween at college dressed like a domanatrix. Interesting (and somewhat hot) mental image, though, if he had.  
   By the time we got to the post office, he’d moved on to his second building. A treehouse. An actual, livable tree house, Swiss Family Robinson style, with all the entertaining contraptions he could work into the supports for water and power.  
   By the time he’d finished telling me about his third building, his own estate house that might rival the Winchester mansion for top spot of awesome-meets-weird, (but with less pointless hallways and staircases, more secret passages and rooms that would be useful and keep whoever bought the house discovering all its hidden mysteries for decades or more,) I realized we’d been parked in front of the phone store for quite some time.  
   And now it was closed.  
   “Damnit,” I sighed. Snow was falling lightly, but steadily and I glanced around. Nothing seemed to be open, actually. It was just starting to darken into night, except hours too early.  
   He plucked his own cell (I was only a little jealous) out of his pocket frowning.  
   “They’ve been texting,” he said with a guilty wince. “Ah, hell.”  
   “What? Everyone okay?”  
   “Yes,” he insisted quickly, “just, maybe not us. There’s an actual blizzard on the way.” Like it was timed, a plow truck swooped by, chunks of salt bouncing along the road like marbles in its wake.  
   “How far out are we?” I hadn’t been paying attention at all, caught up in watching him talk spooky houses and indoor slides.  
   “In this weather? An hour. Maybe more.” A new text pinged in response to his ‘we’re alive’ conformation. “The roads out there are already getting bogged up.” Both his eyebrows shot up. “And they want us to stay safe here til the roads clear.”  
   His eyes shifted slightly in my direction. I was suddenly thinking what I’m sure he was thinking.  
   “Oh, the horror,” I deadpanned. “Whatever shall we do?”  
   A new text pinged in and he choked on a chuckle. “According to both our parents, get separate rooms.”  
   I snickered. This, we could work with.

   I settled into the chilly sheets at the closest motel fully clothed until the heat kicked in. I had no phone, but I did have my daypack, which had my laptop, which had my messenger app. As long as I had WiFi, (which this motel did, albeit crappy slow WiFi), I had a means of communication.... and reading material. And (praise the fates and God himself) _privacy_.  
   It was just past supper time so we raided the snack machine of everything not purely made of sugar and a variety of sodas and each disappeared into our respective rooms, which were side by side, several doors down from the office. And the walls were thin. _Very_ thin.  
   I could tell when his tv flipped on, and when he squeaked down onto his own lumpy mattress and heard a crinkle of a bag opening. I cracked open a can of soda and heard the crinkle stop abruptly. _Now_ he was getting it.  
   When he’d first pulled into the motel lot, I think he’d been waiting for me to object to how dingy it was. But my family had never had much in the way of money and so the few times I’d ever stayed in motels, they’d all been much like this one. Decades since its last renovation the sheets would be scratchy, the decor would be outdated, and the walls would be thin. I opened my own bag of baked potato chips and crunched down on one. A second later, he did too. Then he cracked open a soda.  
   I leaned back against the rickety wooden headboard that was probably a mirror image of his and spoke, not especially loud. “Anything good on?”  
   The tv in his room flipped from station to station.  
   “Gunsmoke reruns on channel 2. Tv reception’s pretty bad though.” I ate a few more chips, scrolling down my browser on the link he’d given me a few days ago, intrigued.  
   Not all of it was especially kinky, but as our first encounter at the kitchen counter proved, you don’t necessarily need to be naked or half buried in leather, latex or chains for even a fully clothed quickie to be incredibly hot.  
   Still, his writing wasn’t half bad. Definitely worth a bookmark. I didn’t have an account with this site, so couldn’t favorite the stories or authors, but ohhhhh, _so_ much kink here. So many _ideas_.  
   I saw the email light blinking slowly at the taskbar and waited (a decade) for it to finally retrieve my mail. Corine, sending me well wishes, more sympathy for my dearly departed phone and a few pictures from sledding, snowmobiling, the village bonfire, snowmen building, and the occasional walk ‘round the pond for me to add to my collection.  
   As they popped up, I smacked my forehead, wide-eyed. Next door, the tv muted. One picture, then the next. And the next.  
   “Everything okay? Get a winter mosquito in there?” Evan inquired.  
   “Fine,” I said, distracted.  
   “Liar,” he countered, mildly.  
   “No, it’s fine. Just got a surprising email.” Very surprising.  
   Only barely of adult status myself, it’s easy to forget that near-adults are just as intelligent. And observant. Nearly every photo was of Evan or I taking pictures of the other or just the expressions on our faces when the other was nearby.  
   Corine wasn’t stupid. As of right now, she may be the smartest person I knew. This was her subtle way of saying she _knew_ , and she approved. I’d been so worried about parents and aunts and uncles, I’d forgotten how observant kids are. Especially teenagers. Gossipy teenagers. So, likely Alexa knew too.  
   “Sure you’re okay?” His voice was teetering from amused to mildly concerned because he was observant too. If he saw these pictures, he’d see me. But the me that’s in these pictures isn’t aroused, or embarrassed, or amused, or just friendly. Here, I’m soft, and intent, and watchful, and possibly (maybe a little bit) falling in love.  
   The Evan in these pictures looks very much the same.  
   I don’t know if it’s fair to expose him outright like that. If that’s what it was.  
   How did I _ever_ think this would be casual?  
   I clicked the last image full screen, and tried to see it, minus the me. The person he’s looking at is someone who’s saying something worth hearing- his head is tilted down and towards them, deliberately catching every word. What he’s hearing, or just heard has him thoughtful, and maybe fond. No, more than fond, with his eyes shifted not on their eyes, but on cheek and ear, like he’s memorizing the angles of the face.  
   Someone, all in all, that he respects, enjoys seeing, and not just to look at, and someone he’s more than fond of.  
   I crunched away at my chips, closing down the images one at a time, filing them away, mentally. I eat, drink, and let my mind go awol for a bit- So much so that I barely hear the tiny ding of his cell receiving a text. Or an email.  
   I shouldn’t know the silence that follows. I’ve spent less time with him than nearly everyone I lived with, roomed up with, or gone to camp with, or am blood related to. But I know, somehow, the silence that follows is a text or an email from either Corine or Alexa.  
   A full minute of silence passes, then two. Three.  
   “You got an email from Corine, didn’t you?” His voice is oddly flat and I’m surprised by how much that hurts. Because this is how it ends.  
   “Yeah,” I answer, wished I was a better liar. “You too?”  
   His sigh is almost inaudible, two minutes later. “Nite Sam.” A squeak of bed, a click of the light and the tv regains it’s volume, though still low.

   I take my over-starched pillow with me to the bathroom, turned on the a shower that rattles obnoxiously loud, like I knew it would, sat on the cold tile and cried, silently. I was such a fucking idiot.  
   Well, no. But naive, yes. You can’t be casual about any kind of sexually stimulated relationship when you’re also trying to learn them, and that’s what this was, for me. Not an everyday, tiny little crush like the one I’d harbored for him for years, but secretly and stupidly hoping for more, now that I was closer to his league.  
   I still wasn’t even close to his league, and likely never could be, not for him. Not because he was older and more driven in his own pursuits and future career, but because this was meant to be a quick, fun holiday distraction with someone he likes, enjoys, someone he could scratch a mutual itch with. But not with someone too new to actual college-style independence for anything more. Anything more would be public. Family-friendly and public.  
   That likely wasn’t something he’d be willing to risk. Not for just me.

   The roads are still impassible the next morning, though the plows were doing their damndest to keep up, from what I could see. This was like snowmageddon of the plains. A fifty year storm, as my Umpa had called them.  
   The WiFi had given out entirely in the night and reception on my tv was sketchy, the audio abysmal, but oddly, the subtitles worked perfectly. The news was bad. Another foot by mid afternoon, possibly two by nightfall.  
   I burrowed under a mountain of covers with my headphones pouring old-school Dido straight into my brain and watched the wallpaper wind it’s way through every photo stored on the drive. Since most of my art was based off the photos I took, there were thousands for it to skip through, from freshman year of high school onward.  
   I hadn’t really kept up with my classmates since leaving for college, but I’d never been great friends with many of them. It was difficult to keep friends when my parents inevitably put them all under microscopes.  
   Now I had college life with still few friends, because I had little practice at making them and no idea how to keep them. I studied twice as hard to fill my time, made head of most my classes and now people disliked me for fucking up the grade curve. Good intentions, meet road to hell. Or, road to loneliness, at any rate. I watched my (largely) friendless photos stream by and tried to hibernate through the misery.  
   I woke to the bed shaking, weirdly sore and exhausted. And cold, maybe. More numb than cold. And not the bed shaking, but the wall? No, door. Someone at the door.  
   “Sam!” Another trio of bangs. Fucking _Evan_. I stumbled hazily through the dim room on bare noodled legs, unlocked the flimsy lock, and yanked it open, grumbly as a bear.  
   “People are _sleeping_ in here.” I grumped. Or, tried to? My lips weren’t working very well.  
   “ _Shit_.” With the help of his shadowed form I was bundled in, scooped up, and fell asleep to his muttering somewhere nearby.

   Blissful warmth when I woke again. Still sore, less numb. Very loud, but I doubted the Jeep would ever not be. _Wait_...  
   I was missing a few steps.  
   The Jeep was on. We were in it. We, because I probably hadn’t grown the two extra bare arms wrapped around me, or the bare leg curled around mine.  
    _Shiiiiiiit_.  
   If we got our thang on in the Jeep like some final hoo-ra kinky send off, I should at least be allowed to _remember_ it. Life is sometimes very unfair.  
   I huffed unhappily while trying to pry away, feeling awkward as sweaty skin peeled away from other skin with soooo little finesse.  
   “Stay put. Nowhere to go yet.” He sounded like a lazy cat, slow and sleepy.  
   “Okay, but... why are we in the Jeep? Why are we _unclothed_ in the Jeep?” I glanced down at the mountain burying us. “And why did we steal crappy blankets to be unclothed in the Jeep?”  
   Inquiring minds wanted to know, preferably before it got any more awkward than it was. He heaved a sigh, like talking was a chore. Or just talking _to me_ was a chore. I closed my eyes and tried to be unconscious. That would be grand.  
   He answered before I could pull that nifty trick off.  
   “Long story short, power went out, we almost froze to death, now were in here, not frozen, the end.” A lazy cat with a flat voice. I aimed for unconscious again. Failed. Try again, fail again. Fail better? Nope. Just.... failed.   
   I stared at the snow whipping by the window, tried to mentally triangulate where they’d land if I was one. Winds in this area generally blew northeast, I think. Up into Ohio, Pennsylvania maybe. New York, New England. Then I’d be another not-so-special snowflake burying them alive instead. No, I wouldn’t wish that on them. People freeze to death all the time up there, a sad and unfortunate truth.  
   California has less snow. Much less. They get wildfires instead.  
   I began to see the universal appeal of Hawaii and why the cost of living there was so high. Premium weather year round was hard to come by so they could charge whatever they wanted to. I’d make enough some day though, enough to join the beach dweller community. They seemed pretty content with their tents and sand fleas.  
   But flea bites hurt.  
   Northern California, then. San Francisco. The redwood forests. I’d steal Evan’s tree house design and embrace the life of an Ewok. The simplest of lives. Or track down the island of Lost. Hook up with Richard and those chocolaty eyes and flawless Spanish. Totally doable. Okay, mentally in a weird place. Sleep.

   I awake with an errection. Not mine, obviously, but the last time I’d had one pressing up against me I knew for a fact that the owner had wanted it there. The snowfall was down to a slow flurry, and it was getting darker again. But lights were on. The motel lights, specifically.  
   Thank gawd. Also, thank you God, for saving me from... Well, from any more of this.  
   No, wait, I was still in ‘this’. But God helps those who help themselves. And He’d left a beacon of light, so to speak. I tapped lightly at the arm smooshing me down. “Evan.” A sigh, deep and slow. “Ev—“  
   Aaaaaand that was a slow hard roll of hips. “ _Evan_.” A little louder.  
   “ _Sam_.” And another roll of hips. I squeezed my eyes shut, with a little pained huff. Unfair. Not just sexually, because rejection sucks regardless, but to say my name like I’m something he wants, _someone_ he wants. Totally fucking unfair.  
   Our heads were pointed up toward the front of the cab, laying on the back seats that folded down. Quite roomy, really. It also meant the passenger-side back door was right in front of me. I braced myself for the cold, popped the lock, and opened it.  
   “ _Shit, what the hell?_ ” I hadn’t braced my eardrum, unfortunately. Ow.  
   “Lights are back on,” I pointed out, nabbed the keycard from the little pile of wallet, keycards, and cell phone on the front seat, then I grabbed the topmost layer of the blanket pile to wrap around my shoulders, braced myself again, and jumped into the calf-deep snow.  
   Wow. And here I thought I knew true cold. My bad.  
   I shut the Jeep door (because I’m not a jerk) and make a run for it. The power had been back on for long enough to reheat the room some. I shower briefly and get dressed again, (having been unclothed and feeling vulnerable enough for one day), and check my laptop. No new messages or emails. Oh... WiFi is still down.  
   The Jeep shuts off outside, then nothing. Sitting in a cooling car post-blizzard? Maybe checking his phone while it’s still plugged in.  
   I flick all the lights off (on the extreme off-chance he’d want to talk) and head for the bathroom with my sketch pad, stuffing a towel under the door to hold the light in.  
   Yes, I can admit (depressingly) to myself that I’m hiding. Not currently feeling that tough.  
   So I sketch, from memory, my dorm room. Because as of right now, there’s nowhere I’d rather be. It was comfortably cramped with both Anna and I’s effects spilling into the other’s space. Like me, she was a bit of a loner, with the exception of her dick of a boyfriend. But she and I rub along well together and have our own private bathroom. I miss her for the same reason I miss our dorm room: simplicity and few surprises. _Normal_.  
   I sketched the front entry to the only decent coffee shop near campus that I’d found. It was a blissfully non-trendy hole in the wall called (rather unoriginally) Coffee Joe’s. Joe did, in fact, own the place, and made a mean, cheap cup of coffee. He also didn’t complain when I sometimes left some unavoidable pastel chalk shavings on the floor where it settled deep into the grout. He insisted it livened up the place. I made a habit of tipping well.  
   Evan eventually made it back to his room, definitely used the bathroom (still thin walls) and distracted himself with the tv. Not that I was deliberately listening.

   I sigh, heavily, wishing I had an easy out. Someone to blame who wasn’t me.  
   But not Corina. A sweet girl with a big heart and good intentions just trying to clue us both in that whatever Evan and I feel about each other, it isn’t a one way street. Not Evan either- not really. He’s got the right idea with distancing himself. I should embrace the concept. I should.  
   I _know_ I should.  
   A tear hits the sketch, right over the doorknob of Joe’s shop.  
   I’m not this pathetic. _I’m not._  
   Unless I am.  
   “I was wrong,” my mirror said. I shut my eyes, flinching. How the hell had he known I was in here?  
   “No more than I was,” I admitted, after a minute.  
   He was quiet, but I could hear the creaking of the sink, like he was gripping it, tipping his weight in. Not wise, if his sink was bolted to the wall as flimsily as mine was.  
   “Can we talk?”  
   I huffed. “We are.”  
   “Please.” I bit my lip.  
   “We were playing with fire, Evan,” I said at last. “It was a stupid game to start, all things considered.” Because in mere days he’d be back at his own frat house, with his own friends, his own routine, to the future he’s planning that will fulfill everyone’s expectations. It’s who he is.  
   And I’m a fling-worthy step-cousin who won’t be fitting in with that future beyond (now) awkward family visits and special occasions. We’d both get over it.  
   “It wasn’t meant to be-“ he fumbled, but yeah. I knew.  
   “Serious,” I finished. “I know.”  
   “I doubt that,” was said so quietly I’m sure he hadn’t meant for me to hear.  
   “And you’d be wrong,” I replied anyway, my head tipping back while I stared at the lightbulb, deliberately blinding myself a bit, another explanation for my damp eyes. “Because I can feel _you_ from across a fucking room, too.”  
   His breath caught, I think. Then he jerked back, out of his bathroom. Surprise? Horror? Something else? If I could only see his face, I might divine which direction the cogs and gears in his head are turning.  
And then I didn’t have to guess because he’s pulling me up from the floor, having just thrown open the bathroom door beside me and past the white spots in my eyes his face looks intense and _hungry_.


	6. Motel Smut

   “Did you just teleport in? That would be a really handy ability to have,” I noted with surprise, almost more surprised that I can form a coherent sentence when his hands are on my ass, lifting me so I have to grasp to his shoulders just to not tip back over. Clearly my legs have a mind of their own, swinging up and over his hips so I’m clinging like a kuala.  
   “Oh yeah, I’ve got mad skills,” he deadpans. And this is _right_. This ridiculous friendship laden with sexual tension that feels like lock and key and humor and joy.  
   I snort, eyes widening and smile twitching to life. “Did you really just say that?” Holy shit, he’s _blushing_.  
   “Are you hallucinating?” he asks walking (stumbling) out of the bathroom and back into the dim bedroom, his hands kneeling my butt a little, rubbing my ass on one side with the edge of his thumb the way he does to his steering wheel like I’m a comfort object, safe and familiar. And I let _that_ comfort _me_ from where a chunk of my brain is still screaming _Red alert! Red alert!_ just from the proximity of his body to my body. Or from where his heart is going to inevitably break my heart.  
   He drops his forehead to mine, eyes closing and tense muscles relaxing. “You took my keycard,” he answers quietly as I rub my nose against his, slow.  “Lazy ass manager didn’t rekey the doors.  They both work for both.”  Ah.  
   I’m almost sure, but I need to hear it.  
   “This’ll be it, won’t it?” I ask. He nods, nose brushing to and away, looking resigned but peaceful.  
    _Okay_. A far better ending than the dull rusty hacksaw method this last day has been. It feels right when I kiss him softly and feel the light scruff of unshaven chin. The kiss doesn’t stay soft.  
   He is definitely the kind of kisser who can get me halfway gone with just his mouth on mine, and maybe himself too because we’re both breathing a little hard by the time his shirt and shoes come off, both practically whimpering by the time we’re both down to undergarments.  
   He pulls my hair free from my messy half-tucked ponytail so he can bury his fingers in, grab fistfuls of hair tight and uses it to control my head, tug me away, get me kneeling high on the very edge of my bed, tucks a knee lightly between my own and now I’m back to feeling weirdly exposed and safe the way I had in the kitchen.  
   I’m trying to tug him closer by his waist, trying to get my lips on his chest or maybe teeth because if this is the one time we get, I’ll be damned if I’m not getting the full Monty. But he’s slowing us down, tugs my hair tight until my eyes clear enough to latch onto his.  
   From here, it’s perfect. This moment I’ll sketch, just once, and likely destroy it, but I won’t forget this intensity in his eyes. Won’t forget him licking his way into my mouth, gently pinning my arms behind my back and nudge his knee more firmly between mine and tug and push until I’m riding his thigh while we breathe into each other, tension rising and falling like waves.  
   I can feel him hard and straining in his boxers with every brush of my hips, know I’m not alone soaring this close to the edge. I pull back when I’m definitely too close, and lunge forward and grip his nipple between my teeth, scraping and soothing until he groans and I move on to the other one, and his fingers are still tight in my hair, holding me close as his hips rock against empty air.  
   He presses me back against the sheets and his long warm body covers me completely. It’s been a long time since someone made me feel small and protected. My bra is suddenly gone, but only to slide up my arms to my wrists, wind around the splintered headboard and holds my arms high and tight. His tongue is licking at my lips again until my mouth is open and wet and waiting, desperate for contact.  
   When his cock slides in, salty and thick, I groan deep and open wider but loose, let him do the work - let him _make me_ take it.  
   He does, slides in deep, then shallow, pulls out to paint my trembling lips with his tip, lunges in deeper, holds there til my arms pull taught with instinctual panic, then out and away for me to gasp and whine at the loss. He soothes my lips and tongue with his own and begins again. And then one more time til he’s kissing my sweaty brow.  
   “Fuck, you took that so well,” he rasps against my cheek and I suck in a breath, trembling. Apparently I can now add praise kink to my ever-growing collection.  
   His sneaky hands have found my breasts and I bite my lip, a little embarrassed. There’s not much there to work with, and never will be. Seems to be enough for him, though, because he starts in with little teasing pinches and nips of teeth. My breasts have always been hyper sensitive, far too many nerve endings to be normal. To him, they seem to be a buffet, each tickle and scratch and suckle delicious.  
   The look on his face is like rapture, like a passionate prayer. I want to hold him there, just suckling so that look never ends.  
   “ _Evan_ ,” I rasp, trembling.  
   His eyes lift to mine and he pauses for a fraction and then sucks, hard. And then harder, his eyes never leaving mine. And harder still until I’m nearly convulsing, riding the very, _very_  edge, pain and pleasure entwining. My nerves are taut as a wire when he lets go to blow cool air over it and I cry out a moan, fast and deep, tears of frustrated relief gathering in my eyes.  
   He slides back up, kisses my cheeks, my brow, the tears that spill over and trickle down towards my ears.  
   “So fucking gorgeous like this, you don’t even know.”  
   Definite praise kink, because his words leave me a shivering mess.  
   “Please!” I’m gasping now and need to pull back or I’m a goner.  
   “Please what?”  
   I shake my head viciously, jaw clenching because I’m out of words.  
   “Okay,” he soothes, running a careful hand down my side, like I’m a nervous filly. “Okay, I’ve got you.”  
   He reverse crawls away, back downward until his teeth reach my navel. I gulp in air, still so close. But he keeps nipping downward, past the side string of my thong, then my hip, suckling that perfect tender side spot where my hip meets my pelvis.  
   My breath catches, hips jittering madly as he spreads my thighs only to settle in, run his teeth down one side and back up the other, only glancing by my pussy with a quick edge of teeth and starts again, repeats the routine while my breath levels out to a manageable slow gasping.  
   And then he opens his lips, wide enough to cover my whole pussy and devours me with tongue, lips, teeth til I’m writhing under him all over again. He traces a finger along the edge of my thong and carefully hooks it, uses that tiny scrap to run taut back and forth over my engorged clit. He catches my labia with fabric, keep it wide so his tongue can tease over my slick, lapping it up bit by bit, occasionally plunging inside my heat. My breath is shivering out and I’m lost in the feel of it.  
   When my addled brain resurfaces my thong is gone and I’m on my belly with pillows stacked under my hips. He caresses the globes of my ass, squeezing them together, prying them apart, I’m exposed to his inspection and blushing bright.  
   A thumb dunks into my pussy, a shallow jab then out, only to wipe my own moisture over my pucker, pressing a bit and circling, seeking entry. My breath sighs out of me, glad he’ll do this, too, fill me up everywhere so I’m not empty. But it’s his tongue that fills me first and I choke on surprise, hips writhing uselessly. I’ve never been rimmed, never had a partner who wanted to. But Evan treats it like a gift and not a chore, adding fingers a little at a time.  
   It stings a little with the first finger, aches at two, but at three I’m biting my pillow and weeping a bit from sheer bliss.  
   “Evan, fuck! _Need you._ ”  
   “Shhhh,” he says softly. “I know. I’m here.”  
   He’d conjured a condom and lube from somewhere and seconds or years later he’s buried to the hilt, pinning my shoulders to the mattress, leaning in to keep me spread wide and trapped and wonderfully full. Only a minute later I’m sobbing in bliss when he finally moves - it’s slow and deep, _so deep_ , filling and retreating again and again.  
   “Gorgeous.” He readjusts til he’s curled down over me, back to front. “Wish you could see it, how wide you’re stretched around me, gripping tight, like you mean to keep me in.”  
   Fuck knows I would if I could, but I don’t say it. Instead, I roll my hips back as best I can to keep him moving, especially since I can’t come this way but with my legs spread wide and hands still pinned, well... I’ll admit, the feeling of being used just straight-up does it for me. He knows it, too.  
   He pounds his way in while I mostly lay there limp, adjusts his angle and suddenly it’s like he’s pounding _through_ me, battering my uterus from the outside and I groan because this is so fucking perfect. I whine and whimper and he’s like a machine right now, driving deeper, bruising me from the inside like he’s leaving a mark I’ll never forget.  
   He yanks fully out without warning and I hear the condom come off and feel the tiniest of splashes over my hole and it feels fantastic while he’s choking off a wordless noise, too.  
    _Fuuuuuuck_ , he just ruined his own orgasm. His hand that’s still pinning my chest hard to the mattress is trembling a little and I try to peek over my shoulder, want to see if he looks as wrecked as I feel.  
   When he’s calmed a little, he just covers me again, nuzzles my hair with his nose.  
   “Fuck, that was hot,” I whisper shakily. “You do that often?”  
   A huff is all the response I get, but he releases my hands (awwww) and rises back onto his knees. Bonus, though: I can reach back, feel that sticky splash he’d left, push it in a little, smear it around so I can keep it for a while.  
   Evan makes a noise I can’t fully describe, but it’s punched out and shaky. “Fuck that was hot,” he parrots me, kneading my ass cheeks and pries them wide again so he can watch me tuck that tiny bit of cum back in.  
   “Feels good,” I confess to the mattress, my finger exploring the soft swollen edges of my ass, wondering if it looks as well-used as it feels. “Your not the only one who loves the idea of me wet all night long. I’ve just got more places I like wetted than most.”  
   He makes that little noise again and rolls me over and is back to kissing me and doesn’t taste like anything nefarious, so I suppose I showered better than I realized.  
   My fingers are lightly tracing up his sides, slide up to those strong wide shoulders and down to thick shoulder blades, digging my nails in, slightly. He shivers, nipping at my bottom lip. I sort of want to claw him up, just to know he’d carry my mark for a while. I sort of want that for me too.  
   I dig my nails a little harder, feel his cock pressing off-centered into my groin, and roll my hips in response. He shifts slightly away, pulling back with a grumpy glare.  
   “Keep that up and we’ll be done way too soon.” His eyes narrow as he nips my bottom lip sharply. I roll my hips again, trying for contact.  
   I’m feeling off-balance and need a distraction, need him to control me a little, because I’m at that strange place where I start to question myself, question my needs and wonder if my own desire isn’t a manifestation of a sickness I could _control_ but _won’t_.  
   I try to put this all in a look because my own words won’t spill out. He just frowns down at me, leans in for a soft kiss which is almost the complete _opposite_ of what I need because I tremble with a plaintive whine and note a little distractedly that this might be a panic attack. _Shit_. Talk about a mood killer.  
   Since we’ve clearly been living in each other’s brains for a while, he suddenly catches on, eyes going calm and determined.  
   With a quick fistful of my hair he yanks up and to the side, hard, leans closer and proves he’s still got those basic animal instincts.  
   I’ve been bitten before, but not like this, and not on my neck where the marks could been seen by (my parents) anyone with eyes. The bite is sharp, but not bruising, followed with a suck that rolls into a lick up my neck a fraction where he bites sharply again, sucks, licks, and repeats.  
   Every nip is taking him closer to that sweet spot, the one just under my ear that damn-near switches me off, like cutting the strings of a puppet. He arrives, he bites a little harder than he had lower down and I go limp with a choked-off sigh, my arms dropping away and the knee I’d had raised flops weakly out to the side.  
   When he raises his head again his eyes are dark, go even darker when he sees me pliant and nearly helpless.  
   “Don’t move, even an inch, or I’ll have to stop,” he breathes out. “And maybe need to start all over again.”  
   He starts with my ankles, nibbling gently until he reaches my knee, licks the little hollow at the back and then my inner thigh, where he bites down, shit, hard before sucking a bruise into my skin. I whimper, unable to even move yet from that animalistic bite. I’m shivering and still boneless and soon both my inner thighs are bruised with dozens of tiny marks I can’t see but I feel and it’s _just right._  
   When he crawls his way back up he blows over my clit and my eyes water. He licks into my bellybutton and my lips tremble and a tear slips out to slide into my hair. He suckles both my breasts again with the same intensity and I groan out a sob. He scratches his scruff over my neck, still raw from his earlier attention and then he’s there, his thighs nudging mine up and out, so wide it burns and his eyes are wild and dark and desperate when he lines himself up, pulls both my arms high and tight above my head and holds them there with one hand, his other steadying my hip.  
   There’s something carnal and dangerous leaking into his expression, but something soft is there too.  
   “You want this.” It’s not even a question.  
   “Yes,” I grind out.  
   “No take-backs.” The tip of his cock slides over my clit.  
   “None,” I choke.  
   The first thrust is hard, but more like a testing stroke. When I only sigh out a groan, he shifts over an inch. The next stroke is so violent it pulls a sobbing shout out of me that even the office of this dump would hear and his expression is satisfied and a little sinister, like maybe it wouldn’t matter if I’d said no, he’d still be buried inside me, just taking without permission.  
   But you can’t rape the willing.  
   He tries anyway, jaw clenched and digs so deep in I can feel it in my spine. It hurts, but perfectly and just right, because it’s the same animal, primal and real that’s lifting my hips to meet his, even as I cry out, passion and pain like twin explosions in progress.  
   There’s a purity to this kind of surrender like releasing a feral half-rabid wolf who’s been caged for too long. Only, we caged ourselves and this is both punishment and prize.  
   He’s punching these small submissive sounds out of me, too deep and too hard and dragging us both to the edge. He sees me slipping past, closer than he is, rears up and slaps me, though not hard or painful, but enough to get my attention.  
   “You’ll fucking cum when I do, and not a second before, understand?” His words are a snarl and I nod, shift a leg to keep him from going as deep so I can slow myself down. He shoves my leg back out painfully, and I whimper.  
   “Nuh-uh, my way or no way at all. Try that again and I won’t cum in you, or even on you. You won’t get any at all.” I sob again, louder, because right now that would be the _worst_ kind of hell. But his real punishment seems to be driving me deliberately to the edge faster than him where he’ll get to make good on that threat.  
   I’ve never fought so hard not to come. He’s relentless, seems both angry and glad that I’m holding on, holding back. And _finally_.  
   “Don’t close your eyes,” he scrapes out, and then we’re there, tipping over, and he shoots off like a hose against my battered cervix, and I clench around him again and again until the world goes soft and distant. We keep thrusting through it, roll right into a second climax that keeps my pussy gripping exhaustedly, to keep him inside and he’s _still_ hard.  
   His forehead is pressed to mine, maybe trembling worse than I am, when he releases my wrists to scoop me up (how can he even move??) and settle against the headboard with me in his lap, legs still wrapped around him and he rocks in, gentler. The look in his eyes is so peaceful. It might actually be a good thing that this is the end of us. I think we might literally fuck each other to death, otherwise.  
   But not before we glide sleepily into one more orgasm, this one both beautiful and right. We doze off that way, still wrapped around each other and still joined together, like lock and key.  
   I wake a little later still nuzzled into his chest with my hand over his heart, a steady familiar beat. We’re still sealed together, though he’s not hard anymore, but just having him resting within me and keeping me full fills me with tranquility.  
   He’s rubbing the edge of his thumb over the base of my spine while the other hand is toying with the hair just at the back of my neck. This moment would be perfect if I didn’t know it was one of the last we’d have. I sigh deeply, let the pain wash through and away. His arms tighten briefly.  
   “Intense,” he murmurs and I nod.  
   “The good intense though,” I add. He hums agreement. “We could just stay, hide.” It’s a lame suggestion, and it’s getting light out. If the roads are clear, they’ll expect us back soon.  
   “We can’t.” He squeezes me tighter, closer. “And if we could...”  
   “Then we still shouldn’t. I know.” I hate knowing. Ignorance is bliss, after all, and tucked away from the world and family is a tiny slice of cloud 9, even if it is a crappy motel. But what’s the point of being an irresponsible young adult if you can’t make the most of the time you have? So I kiss him, soft and sweet and he kisses me, less soft and sweet flies right out the window when I clench down, keep hold of his rapidly hardening cock and ride him, never giving him the slim chance to object because he feels amazing and I need this inexplicable emptiness filled for just a little longer. He groans into the kiss, his hands guiding my hips, but I need no guide, swivel my hips wide and sink down deeper when I rock my hips forward, feel his breath catch when I clench down harder and do it again, hips rolling out a rhythm I know would —  
   “Fuck,” he grinds out, eyes closed tight, like he’s fighting it, holding off. Well, _fuck that_. I swing my ankle higher, rock back a little which sinks him in another unexpected inch and just grind him deep into me, squeeze and release and grind squeeze and release and grind. He moans, loud, hardening even more and my breath quickens as I near the finish line, gripped him tighter, so close, _so close._  
   His fingers are hard enough to bruise when he grips my hips and shoves me down flat, hiking my knee up to hook it over his elbow and plunges deep, almost painfully deep with his eyes intent on mine— here with me, _right here_ with me still and when I tip, he tips with me, my name on his lips. I kiss it away, swallow it, and rock us both to a finish.


End file.
